


What's More Romantic?  1/1.

by punky_96



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 11:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Re-post from LJ.AU:  In editing, sometimes you have to ask someone else, what’s more romantic? PS. Andrea’s job was likely originally an assistant job that has evolved over time. There is no job description for you to read, please don’t worry about that, eh?





	What's More Romantic?  1/1.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: This was beaten with the comma club once by the illustrious xenavirgin :) thanks, bb!!!  
> A/N: Sentence help from raiderl for ‘further/farther’ and xenavirgin for ‘continual/continuous.’  
> A/N 2: The Elsa writing that Andrea edits is a fic that I wrote a while ago, I figured I could use it any way I wanted since it was mine. The dead elephant flower shop sign is a Seattle oddity along with the other things mentioned in that passage. You can find them here: http://www.roadsideamerica.com/location/wa/all. (It’s called Flower Shop Elephant.)  
> A/N 3: Yes, I have a dude writing a love/erotic story about two chicks. I’ve known it to happen quite successfully.

_**What’s More Romantic? Part 1/1.**_  
  
Most days were boring. Perhaps that was such a universal truth that it was the reason that people went a little mad, made those bad decisions, pushed their luck one too many times—avoiding boredom, officer, that’s all. At first glance the office was a riot of color, activity, energy—much like Tokyo, New York, or London. After time, like those big cities, one adjusted and bright wasn’t bright enough, busy was pedestrian, and interest no longer piqued. Andrea had moved to the Big Apple wanting what the metropolis seemed to offer. After a year, she had become just another girl on another sidewalk getting coffee, running errands, looking up with a glimmer of hope only to blow a sad breath up her face to make her bangs dance in disappointment after another false alarm.  
  
Erotica—that had to be exciting, right?  
  
Lily blushed to the tips of her mini-dreds and Doug flapped his jaw like the good mid-western boy he wasn’t. Andrea had even stolen some copy on the pretense of editing from home to show them. It wasn’t all bodice rippers, heaving bosoms, and throbbing members. Occasionally there was a damsel in distress, don’t forget about her.  
  
They were quite disappointed when Andrea pointed out the word usage, punctuation, and grammar and mechanics errors that she found on the page. It wasn’t all homophones and dangling participles in erotic fiction. They did tease her mercilessly about how to diagram a sentence about bondage.  
  
That was all there was to life—going to and from work, making immature jokes with friends over a drink, and sleeping so you could do it again.  
  
  
  
*** *** ***  
  
  
  
Typing away at her laptop Andrea lost herself in the music. The story this time didn’t involve pirates or aliens and Andrea had been able to lose herself entirely in the setting as she began reading for pleasure instead of error finding. The piece had a slow build, developing the characters gradually as they went about their mundane work at a coffee shops and restaurants. If they would just throw in an art gallery and investment banking office, then Andrea could see herself in the book. Growing more and more independent as she lived life, went through that first serious break up, and tried to begin fresh and new in a world that suddenly seemed grey and dull.  
  
“What would be more romantic, Andrea? Arriving behind you with a squeeze of the shoulder.” The low sultry voice of her boss was accompanied by the gentle though very warm, very real squeeze of Miranda’s hands on her shoulders. “Perhaps a rose in front of your nose?” One hand slipped away, only to return dangling a rose in front of her face. Andrea involuntarily smiled at this gesture. Suddenly her blah world had a splash of dark red—the Amadeus rose—coming from an unlikely source. Andrea felt her chair leaned back slightly, her body taken on an angle with it. Miranda’s lips, the same deep red color of the rose, hummed near her ear, as she whispered, “Perhaps a simple, ‘I’ve missed you’ and a kiss on the cheek?” The heat from Miranda’s lips just barely caressed the sensitive skin of Andrea’s earlobe. Then Andrea felt disoriented as her chair and her body were righted. Miranda slipped around her desk and laid the flower down. “What would be more romantic, Andrea?”  
  
The tall slender form of her boss faced her from the opposite side of the desk, hiding her calves accentuated by the four inch heels. Andrea’s eyes widened as part of her brain registered that Miranda had asked her a question, in fact all of the last two minutes of sensual overload had been her boss asking her a question. “The, the,” Andrea swallowed trying to return moisture to her dry throat and then forced herself to answer, “the last one.” Andrea nodded as if this would dismiss the array of sensations and emotions that had erupted in her mind and body like a derailed fireworks show in the middle of the afternoon.  
  
“Yes, I agree.” Miranda smiled coyly as she traced the stem of the rose on Andrea’s desk. Then she looked back towards the conference room down the hall. “Fabio disagrees.” Her eye roll added the ‘of course’ for her. Turning away, Miranda added, “Put that in water.”  
  
  
  
*** *** ***  
  
  
For many moments Andrea sat very still, like a child in a field on a summer afternoon hoping that a butterfly will land on her nose. At twenty-six she wasn’t so young that she held any illusions of fairy magic at sunset or anything like that—she was still the office girl in a book publishing office, still single, and still… Andrea closed her eyes. She wondered if this was how Neo felt when he chose the red pill and could feel the real world creeping through his body. All of a sudden Andrea realized that she worked for the kind of beautiful woman that people wrote about—the kind of woman with a mystery, a power, an edge, and—Andrea breathed deep as she felt it in her core—a pure sensuality that could not be missed by even the most oblivious or naïve person. Behind darkened eyelids, Andrea could see the strand of hair usually over one blue eye, the curve of her neck down to today’s white button up shirt. In her mind she could map the contours of the hinted at bosom before slipping down along her slender waistband over curves that her hands suddenly wanted to touch and along the swaying fabric of her burgundy skirt. After being pulled back in her chair like that it wasn’t so far for her mind to reach out and ease Miranda onto the desk, and let her fingertips play in the pleasure tidal zone above the thigh highs and under the hemline.  
  
Andrea felt her heart beating like a newly caged animal inside the cavity of her chest. Her hand twitched with a desire she could not put words to despite her intense desire to find a way. Her skin felt heated and she could imagine the press of Miranda’s lips against her ear, though it never really came to pass that way. Her shoulder felt burned from the familiar squeeze of greeting. A bead of sweat formed at her temple giving way to others until she felt the salty trickle down the side of her face. Breathing in deeply, Andrea had to hold the edge of her desk to keep her rooted in the moment. She realized at once what a mistake this was as her brain began to catalogue and memorize the scent of Miranda’s perfume, shampoo, the rose and any other detail that she had always known about this woman and yet had never been aware that she wanted to comprehend.  
  
Sitting bolt upright, Andrea looked at her screen, ‘ _Long fingers pressed further than ever before, pushing her overstimulated brain further into a state of absolute bliss.’_  Glaring at the screen, Andrea growled, “Fingers go in FARTHER than ever before.” Jumping to her feet, Andrea gasped as she applied the sentence to herself, or her imaginings, or her suddenly conscious desires. Her eyes landing on the rose instead of her sanity, Andrea grabbed it thorns and all and headed off to the kitchenette. Someone had left their glass coffee drink on the counter instead of rinsing it like they were supposed to, and Andrea made quick work turning it into a vase for her rose.  
  
  
*** *** ***  
  
  
_Elsa had always known that Seattle was a little unusual. To top that off she was working at a hospital that specialized in it. Like the proverbial cherry, Elsa had fallen in love with an orthopedic specialist who still wore Wonder Woman underwear at the age of 33. Some days she couldn’t believe her ‘luck.’ The weird just kept coming. It had been a while since anything had really been too out of the ordinary. The levels of strange had stabilized it seemed. That was until tonight. It figured that the craziest date she had ever been on in her life was with her wonderful woman._  
  
Who would have thought that a simple thing like her girlfriend changing her cell phone would have lead to this night? As soon as she held up the phone and gave her that smile Elsa knew they were going to have a memorable experience of some kind.  
  
The dead elephant flower shop sign was a little unusual. The troll under the freeway bridge was actually a lot of fun. She couldn’t believe that Chloe got her to crawl all the way up to his shoulder and take a picture. The sound garden, holding hands, and strolling along not even talking was so unbelievably sweet that she couldn’t stand it. The twenty foot tall statue of Lenin left her wondering once again about the wackiness of the city she had found herself calling home. The life-sized dinosaurs made out of bushes made her shake her head and Chloe began to chase her around the park pretending she was a T-Rex that wanted to eat her. They had to sit on a nearby bench to catch their breath once Chloe caught up to her.  
  
Looking at the photo Chloe took of her reaction to the rocket that blew smoke showed her in a way she had never known she could look. ‘Happiness looks good on me,’ she thought.  
  
Driving past three different signs Seattle finally made sense to her. The first one said, “Entering the Republic of Fremont, the center of the Universe, set your watch back five minutes.” Elsa’s eyeroll sent Chloe into a delighted giggle attack.  
  
The next sign said, “Entering the Republic of Fremont, the center of the Universe, set your watch forward five minutes.” When Elsa turned to her with that dropped face that screamed ‘seriously,’ Chloe thought she might pee her pants with laughter.  
  
When they drove past the third sign, “Entering the Republic of Fremont, the center of the Universe, throw away your watch,” it was a magical moment. Elsa slowly started laughing.  
  
Chloe smiled at her girlfriend, but when she kept laughing and tears began to fall, she had to reach out and gently check on her. “Elsa? Are you okay?”  
  
Breathing in a ragged breath, Elsa turned to her wiping her face. “Yeah.” She said still thoroughly amused. “This place just all makes so much more sense now.”  
  
Then it was Chloe’s turn to laugh until she cried.  
  
  
Andrea sighed as she added the final comment to the file. Sometimes the romance of her work really got to her. Looking away from her screen, her brown eyes were drawn towards the inner sanctum of her boss’ lair. Miranda had been quiet lately, well, aside from the occasional quiet call and question. Last time it had been, ‘Andrea, what is more shocking a riding crop or nipple clamps?’ It took her a moment, but Andrea controlled her jaw enough to murmur, ‘crop’ in a squeaky voice that seemed to amuse Miranda. Once she had asked Andrea to come in to her office, but then had left her standing there. After many moments she had asked her for adjectives about how she felt. Andrea had been hard pressed to not articulate her throbbing desire and the thrill of anticipation instead focusing on her description of how the seconds seemed to take longer to tick by in the uncertainty of waiting when called in by her boss and not having a reason why. Miranda had asked about her heart rate and whether or not she felt hot, however she had not commented on the blush Andrea knew had crept up until the tops of her ears were on fire.  
  
Gazing into the office now, Andrea found it odd that she couldn’t remember a time when she had not wished and waited for Miranda to summon her into her office. It seemed to be all that Andrea lived for and yet she knew it was a recent phenomenon in her life. Andrea bit her lip when Miranda let her shoe slip most of the way off of her foot and then dangled it back and forth. It was not often that Miranda engaged in such pedestrian behaviors as finger tapping or twirling in her chair. Andrea loved how human it made her boss.  
  
The excerpt she had just edited lingered in her mind making her wonder what a magical evening of normalcy would be like with Miranda. The puff of her breath on a cold evening in Central Park, ice skating at the Rock, holding hands and watching a street performer in a crowd—Andrea sighed, if she ever had the chance, she would not take those moments with the beautiful woman for granted. She wondered that anyone could. How could they leave her? The question bubbled up in her mind only to be followed by its ugly counter part—did she leave them?  
  
Andrea didn’t figure it would matter one way or the other, but if Miranda had left them, then what could she possibly offer to lure the woman to her? Daydreams of the everyday?  
  
Dejectedly letting her head drop, Andrea saved her file and then closed it. She needed to get away from her desk and restart her mind. This could not be healthy. Gathering up her things and the dead rose in her coffee drink vase, Andrea made her way to the break room. Dumping the now stinky water in the sink, she threw away the rose that had started the madness in her head. Perhaps it would help her to get her mind back on track.  
  
“Andrea?” The call was uncertain and Andrea furrowed her brow—she could not catch a break from this woman. She didn’t want to which was even more trying of course.  
  
“Yes, Miranda. In the break room.” Andrea called out hoping that she hadn’t forgotten a deadline or other infraction.  
  
Manuscript in hand, Miranda came into view. Andrea held her breath as she took in the reading glasses over the blue eyes, the low V of her blouse with uninterrupted skin, and the pants that hugged her legs in such a way that Andrea could imagine the caress the wearer felt walking in them. “If our relationship was antagonistic.” Miranda came to a stop leaning against the counter next to Andrea, not realizing that her assistant’s brain was having an attack at the thought of them in a relationship.  
  
“Y-Y-Yes.” Andrea answered the best her overloaded synapses could.  
  
Miranda narrowed her eyes and looked down at the page she had folded back. “If this was my office and we argued and I stormed out of the door, what would you do?” Miranda motioned for Andrea to participate with her as she walked toward the door of the break room. Oblivious to the brunette’s racing mind Miranda looked again at the page and then examined the door closely. Not even noticing that Andrea had not answered, Miranda looked at her again. “Would I have closed the door to my own office as I stormed out leaving you inside of it?” Miranda adjusted her glasses and then let her free hand trail down the page. Dumbfounded, Andrea watched her boss on the other side of the dividing line between the hallway and the break room now ‘office.’  
  
Tilting her head to the side, Andrea offered, “If you wanted to slam it for the noise then you’d close the door.” She stepped closer to the dividing line between the spaces and considered her words before adding them. “Or if you were so ruffled by my presence that you left because you truly forgot it was your office and not mine, then you’d shut the door to trap me away from you?” She wasn’t sure about this one, even in her most teenaged moments she hadn’t been much of a door-slamming girl.  
  
Looking up from the text, Miranda nodded her appreciation of her suggestions. “I’ve left my own office, shutting the door on you. What do you do?”  
  
Andrea raised her eyebrow, “You said antagonistic?” Miranda nodded. “Well, there are only two choices to stay or to follow you out. Staying wouldn’t serve much purpose unless I wanted to mess up your stuff. I’ve already driven you out of your own space, why not follow you to gloat or at least get back to my office?”  
  
“So you would be at the door preparing to follow me out?” Miranda asked with a smile as she tapped the manuscript in her hand. “He needs more detail, more descriptors.” She held the page out to Andrea letting her take it from her hands. “He wants to go into an anger fueled sex scene against the door, but if the character stormed back into the office then the door would hit your character hurting them. I think he needs a gentle comforting scene here that softens the edges of the relationship.”  
  
Andrea shook her head at the rough erotic scene on the page. It didn’t fit to suddenly go for the naked in the scene. Made much more sense as Miranda said to have the door present an injury and a chance to bank those fires while setting the stage for that steamy scene between the two women in the story.  
  
Taking the manuscript out of Andrea’s hands, Miranda made eye contact with her assistant. Thanks were on the tip of her tongue, yet she just couldn’t begin to say all the things she was thankful for. Never had she been so pulled to interact with an assistant. It just wouldn’t do. Andrea was the kind of assistant that could be groomed for her job one day, there was no way she was going to risk that for the fleeting pleasures of the flesh that she had found many times only to have them slip through her fingers.  
  
Straightening to her full height, Miranda wrapped her composure around herself like a suit of armor. “Call Mr. Kipling, he has some re-writes to work on.” Listening to the clack of her heels in the hallway, Miranda made sure that the pace of her steps did not reveal her urge to run from the euphoric buzz of talking about a relationship with Andrea had caused within her.  
  
  
  
  
*** *** ***  
  
  
Author meetings were tedious. So sensitive about their words, when Miranda only wanted them to be their best. Really, it worked in their favor. Andrea had her copy of the manuscript as well as her clipboard for notes. They had developed a system where Miranda emailed her the bullet points of what she wanted to cover with the author as well as a notation of where the concept was in the manuscript, Andrea put those points down the right hand side of the paper while she left room on the left hand side to note the author’s reaction or the editorial agreement they had come to. It saved time in their debriefing afterwards and left Miranda to be functional and fierce in the meetings. Andrea liked it because she had a reason to be in the other woman’s presence—ostensibly learning, but in the past two weeks she had reluctantly admitted that she just wanted to be closer to the imposing woman. Sometimes sitting at her desk while Miranda was away, Andrea could swear she still felt the closeness of the other woman, the heat of her lips so close to her ear.  
  
The color of that moment had still not faded and Andrea had found a new appreciation for the word: epiphany. Unfortunately it also caused her to have a new problem with the word: distraction. Her life would never be the same, and Andrea was as thankful for the spark in her life as she was fearful that it would burn her in the end. Her silver haired boss never held a longer relationship than a few years, although there was never a shortage of suitors. Andrea occasionally had to deal with the phone messages or courier deliveries from them. The young brunette held no illusions that they were in the same social strata. Miranda was the accomplished professional, apparently consummate lover, and her aloof demeanor had been perfected into an art form; that she had moments of humor, frustration, and gentleness made her imposing daily presence that much more impressive. On the other end of the spectrum, Andrea was young, starting out in the world, her career, and the area of love (and lust). She was easily distracted, flustered by her work, and constantly looking to her boss or google to help her with the finer points of the erotica she was editing. While Miranda seemed to let relationships wash over her like the tides, Andrea had simply never gone down to the shore to see what the water felt like.  
  
Emily’s shrill voice interrupted Andrea’s mental ramblings as she challenged Miranda’s critique. “I am very in touch with the realism of my details.” Her face was becoming about as red as her hair, and Andrea’s eyes widened at the shrill outrage directed at the editor.  
  
Standing and rounding the desk in one fluid motion, Miranda never took her eyes off of the sophomore novel writer. “On page 95 you have Anastasia straddling her lover like so.” Miranda’s knee slid between the arm of the chair and Andrea’s thigh resting her weight on the cushion. Andrea’s spine straightened as if she had been electrocuted and her hands rammed the clipboard into the manuscript ripping a page. Not pausing her motions, or looking down at her assistant, Miranda’s other knee settled on the other side of the chair pinning the brunette under her. “You have them kiss, which is realistic enough.” Miranda’s left hand rested on Andrea’s shoulder without the slightest fumble. Andrea looked up at the silver haired woman, her lips slightly parted in equal parts of shock and awe. Miranda gestured to Emily, who seemed to be riveted by the scene in front of her instead of the critique of her writing that this little demonstration was supposed to be. Glaring at Emily, Miranda used her lowest tones to drive the point home, “Even with hands pulling fabric, how,” Miranda indicated her free hand in the air and motioned down at her assistant playing the part of the character’s lover. “How do Anastasia’s fingers go inside her lover? From this point in your description?”  
  
Blinking hard, Emily took in the fully clothed status of the protagonists in front of her. They represented the scene she had written well enough—two women, lovers, one straddling the other in an office type chair, and as Miranda pointed out fully clothed and not in a position where the lover on top could physically get her fingers where she had described them.  
  
Andrea wanted the red head to vaporize, the silver haired editor to touch her, and this moment to never end. It was excruciating, exhilarating, and heartbreakingly far from the fantasy it could be emulating.  
  
“I. I. Of course you are right, Miranda. Of course.” Emily spluttered out as she turned red in the face.  
  
Miranda stroked Andrea’s face with her right hand, but still did not look at her. To Emily she said quietly, “Your first novel showed such promise, but you cannot falter now.” The tone was entreating, the kind of encouragement that both slapped you on the wrist and inspired you to try again. “Think about what Anastasia would wear, to the access of a skirt and thigh highs.” Miranda suggested, and Andrea thought she would faint from the slight roll of her boss’ hips above her. She could visualize it so easily, from Miranda’s wardrobe. “What’s her name, oh yes, Natalie, could be the instigator, trying to meet Anastasia’s hunger.” Miranda reached down pulling Andrea’s hand up and resting it on the side of her thigh near the imaginary hemline of the skirt. When the editor’s breath hitched, Andrea wondered if Miranda noticed the heat of her palm through the linen pants.  
  
Trying to focus on the novel she had submitted instead of her own reaction to the editor playing out a scene, Emily hummed in her throat and then pointed out. “It’s just that I think Anastasia is the instigator here, I think her hunger is driving her to claim Natalie, not the other way around.”  
  
Smiling the satisfied crocodile smile, Miranda pressed both of her palms against Andrea’s shoulders and eased herself away from her assistant. “So, she’s in her lap, kissing, it gets to be too much for her so she makes her way down her lover’s body.” Miranda placed her hands on the arms of the chair and lowered herself to her knees. Arousal curled into a firebomb low in Andrea’s abdomen as her brown eyes took in the intense gaze of her boss. She could not believe what was happening, her reaction to it, and the hunger she thought she saw glimmer in those bluest of eyes.  
  
“Anastasia would rip apart Natalie’s blouse,” Emily added a detail to the scene.  
  
Looking at the author, Miranda added, “You’d hear the tearing of the buttons.”  
  
Emily scooted to the edge of her chair, “She’d reach for the buttons of Natalie’s pants.”  
  
Miranda let her hands land on the top of Andrea’s thighs, the heat short circuiting the nerves as they computed the sensory input and could not coherently place the data. “Describe the heat between them.” Miranda suggested, her fingers squeezing. “The scent of perfume or shampoo in the air igniting Natalie’s passion to rival Anastasia’s.”  
  
The long slender fingers of Emily’s hand pressed against her forehead as she tried to understand just how wrong she had been and how she could have been so blind. “You’re right of course.” The red head sighed in defeat. “I’ll have to go back through all of those scenes now that I see it.”  
  
Pressing her weight down on the hands, Miranda’s thumbs inadvertently rubbing along the inside of Andrea’s thighs. Miranda was on her feet and then leaning against her desk. “I’m sure that now that you have a clear goal, you can go back and correct those types of reality details while you add in more of the sensory details that we spoke about with your first book.”  
  
Andrea gulped, knowing that they had returned to business from whatever Ozian Rabbit Hole they had just blasted through. Noticing that her hands were shaking, Andrea hoped that she wouldn’t have to write anything specific down at this point. She’d be hard pressed to comply.  
  
Standing, Emily pointed out the way she had come in, “I’ll just go then. I think I have plenty to work on until next time.” Emily stepped away from the chair and grabbed her purse from the floor. “Thank you.” She tottered out on her high heels, though Andrea only heard her as her eyes were roving the body of the editor scant inches from her. Role playing, Andrea told herself, it was just role playing—except that it had been happening increasingly often in the last couple of weeks starting with that ambush with the rose and wished for kiss on the cheek.  
  
She didn’t want to be anyone’s plaything, but she couldn’t deny the frenzied passion signals that her blood cells were circulating around her body like fire.  
  
“Miranda?” The brunette wished the word was louder, that she wouldn’t break the build up between them.  
  
Eyelids fluttered shut and Miranda’s hands flexed against the edge of the desk where she was leaning backwards against it. Andrea could almost imagine that she was also struggling for self-control. “Hmm. Yes, Andrea?” Her lips and tongue caressed the elongated version of her name and Andrea trembled.  
  
“What was that?” Andrea wasn’t complaining. She just wanted to understand.  
  
The silver haired editor sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know.” The aching uncertainty in her voice melted Andrea’s concern immediately and brought up a strange protectiveness. “Inappropriate.” Blue eyes searched Andrea’s brown ones for any indication of agreement or otherwise.  
  
Each pressed further than they understood, Andrea let the silence hang between them. She didn’t have words for what was happening and didn’t dare to voice her hopes in case they were one sided.  
  
Stepping back around her desk and then proceeding to the sunlit window beyond, Miranda returned to the relative safety of the business at hand. “Please note that Ms. Charlton agreed to go through the love scenes to focus on realism in details and to add sensory descriptors.” Miranda glanced at Andrea who was fumbling with her clipboard and the manuscript. Once she had them properly separated again, the editor added, “Starting on Page 95.” After a few moments staring at each other, Miranda waved her hand in the air to send Andrea back out to her own workspace.  
  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Weeks whirled by the editor and assistant equally busy. Commas, dangling participles, and run-on erotica kept Andrea tied to her desk between her screen, faxes, and standard mail. The colors, scents, and sounds of the office still ran amok within her brain at odd times, forcing Andrea to remember her work ethic and that regardless of topic they were putting words together to create stories for others to enjoy. Miranda had gone to a variety of meetings, given a guest lecture at the university, and taken a day to spend with her children.  
  
The rose that had inexplicably started it all had withered, died and been dumped out, yet the feelings stayed. Walking in to a new month, Andrea stopped short of her desk where she found her recycled glass coffee drink vase and a fresh rose waiting for her. Andrea’s mind looped back to that afternoon, Miranda pulling her chair back and questioning her from so close—what would be more romantic: a squeeze on the shoulder, rose in front of your nose, ‘I’ve missed you’ and a kiss on the cheek. Andrea tilted her head considering her answer and Miranda’s response. Nothing had been said between them, perhaps nothing needed to be said, perhaps actions spoke louder than words?  
  
Setting her purse down and shrugging out of her jacket, Andrea prepared for her day. There were three manuscripts that needed to be delivered elsewhere in the building. If she had to wait for a response, then it could take a while. Andrea looked longingly into the other office—the other empty office. She sighed and went about her business.  
  
  
  
*** *** ***  
  
  
  
Somehow the day had run out and the week had rushed along and another new month was halfway gone. Andrea sat at her desk reading for content and grumbling about grammatical mistakes. ‘A single continual stroke from clavicle to navel left goose bumps in its wake.’ Sighing, Andrea looked up and into the other office. Her hand came up to her cheek and she let her fingertip slide down in imitation of the sentence. Realizing that the way it was written would imply that the stroke was repeated ad infinitum, she quickly corrected the error. Placing her elbow on the desk, Andrea rested her chin against her palm. Miranda had turned to look out the window. Her meeting cancelled, she was trying to focus on a new task for the rest of the day. Andrea thought about making a single continuous stroke from Miranda’s clavicle to her navel. She wondered if the woman would have goose bumps on the smooth skin of her abdomen from her touch.  
  
There was only one way to find out. Andrea was standing before her conscious mind could comprehend it.  
  
Stepping around her desk, Andrea crossed the small space into the other woman’s office. If Miranda heard her approach, she gave no outward sign. Reaching out with trembling hands, Andrea pulled the office chair back slightly to tip Miranda closer. “I’ve missed you.” Andrea murmured against the delicate shell of Miranda’s ear. The scent of her perfume poured gasoline on the fire inside of Andrea. Before she could compute the potential losses or gains, Andrea stretched her neck that little bit farther and planted a kiss on Miranda’s cheek. Hearing her slight moan of approval, Andrea’s heart soared out of her body, took a victory lap around the room, and left her standing there frozen in the pose of success.  
  
Miranda leaned forward pulling out of Andrea’s grasp and stood. Her blue eyes searched Andrea’s and finding the beautiful simplicity of desire directed towards her from the younger woman, Miranda side stepped the chair and pulled Andrea by the hand over to the window ledge. Turning the younger woman to lean against the low ledge, Miranda held Andrea’s hands in hers. “Yes.”  
  
Gasping her delight, Andrea’s smile spread across her face so completely filled with joy that the corners of Miranda’s mouth curled up as well. “Yes.” Andrea pulled the silver haired woman closer as her eyes locked onto the beautiful curve of Miranda’s deep red lips.  
  
Pulled in by the gravity between their heavenly bodies, Andrea and Miranda allowed their closed mouths to press against each other as their bodies slowly followed—their breasts heaving against each other, Andrea’s legs widening as Miranda’s hips thrust against her, and their fingers intertwining and wiggling until they dropped hands to wrap around and tousle strands of hair. Lips parted and pressed against the others over and over. Attention fluttering from top to bottom lip, until tongues tentatively pressed against the other. Then hands rustled over the fabric and moans filled chests before vibrating up into the gradually building kiss. Miranda leaned her body forward as Andrea yielded to her backside easing up on to the low ledge. Her knees parted as Miranda’s hands burned her flesh through the fabric of her pants. Teeth teased against the soft tissue of lips and down along the sensitive columns of throats. Andrea wrapped her long legs around Miranda’s body pressing her against the heat of her sex.  
  
“I want to take you.” Miranda growled against the barrier of Andrea’s collar.  
  
Andrea giggled at that. “Well, if Emily wrote it, you could.”  
  
Leaning back to see, Miranda reveled in the feel of Andrea’s legs and body holding her tightly. Pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes, Miranda corrected the younger woman, “We are writing this story, Andrea.” The words dripped with sensuality and Andrea could not stop the shiver that raced up and down her spine.  
  
Smirking, Andrea reached up to unbutton Miranda’s blouse. “Is this the part where I rip your shirt open?” Pretending to fumble a button, Andrea leaned forward and whispered into Miranda’s ear. “I really want to pop the buttons.”  
  
Miranda growled at the words and gripped Andrea’s wrists pulling them to the sides and then directing Andrea to keep them behind her with a look. Not touching Andrea any longer, Miranda proceeded to make love to her with just her mouth. Andrea found herself leaning back on her hands as Miranda worshipped her with kisses all over her face, licks and bites down her jaw and teasing down her chest anywhere there wasn’t fabric. Andrea’s breasts heaved in her chest as she panted. Her hard nipples were easily recognized peaks trapped in the confines of her black bra and dark blue button down. Andrea wanted to wrap her legs tighter around Miranda, even while some part of her brain was shouting at her to spread her thighs more in unspoken invitation.  
  
After many exquisite moments of this delicious torture, Miranda’s laptop whistled the hour. At the same moment they each groaned knowing that this moment had just ended. Taking Andrea’s hands once more, Miranda stood straight kissing the back of each hand. “We will write this story together, Andrea.”  
  
Blue eyes demanded a response. Andrea nodded and then cleared her throat with a cough before she agreed. “I would like that.”  
  
__**FIN.**  
  
x

 

 

 


End file.
